


Twice Shy

by Carrogath



Series: Penitent [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Gen, Post-Canon, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22794988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath
Summary: Mercedes leaves home for the capital, and her kids are just not having it.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Mercedes von Martritz
Series: Penitent [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638820
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	Twice Shy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to Penitent, which can be read by clicking the link labeled "Previous Work" located above.

The letter that arrived to the orphanage house was starchy and stiff: the envelope a thick piece of parchment that had clearly arrived to a humbler home, and the wax seal a gleaming red circle stamped with the image of the Imperial eagle. Mercedes’s full name was written on the front in immaculately rendered script. The children crowded around her as she brought it inside.

“What’s that, Miss Mercie?”

“It’s a letter, can’t you see?”

“Ooh, does Miss Mercedes have a _boyfriend_?”

“Already, Arnulf?” Gerda beside him rolled her eyes. “You’re barely eight years old.”

He glared at her. “Well, you’re only twelve! So what’s it say, Miss Mercedes?”

“I…” She looked down all at the faces staring up at her, at all the legs circling her knees. “Let’s see.”

She sat down at the big round table in the dining room, where Augustus and Adrian sat next to each other to her left, black-haired twin boys. Gerda sat across from them and stared, while Arnulf took a seat to Gerda’s right. Then Lucie, Mathilde, Giannina, all in a row, with Giannina at the end helping little Ernst into his seat.

“I’ll need a knife for the wax seal…” She stood up and took the letter with her, looking once each at Gerda and Giannina in turn.

The knives were kept on the highest shelves in the kitchen, out of reach of small hands and inquisitive minds. She took a paring knife—it was small, and looked sharp enough—and put the envelope down on the counter and worked the blade through the wax. After replacing the knife in the cupboard on its shelf, she returned to the table and the envelope, and lifted the flap. Inside, there was a single sheet of parchment. She pulled it out and unfolded it.

“What’s this?”

Adrian leaned over and squinted. “Hey, isn’t that the Imperial eagle?”

Mercedes held it to the window, to the light. “That’s a watermark, Adrian. This must be the official stationery of the Imperial government.”

“What?” said Lucie. She looked at Mathilde. “What does the Empire want with our Mercedes?”

Mathilde shrugged.

“Wasn’t that woman who visited you over the summer—the one with the silver hair—wasn’t that the Emperor?” Giannina inquired boldly.

“Oh,” said Arnulf, “so it’s the Emperor you’re dating!”

Gerda slapped him lightly on the wrist. “Quiet, you.”

“The Emperor!” Lucie gasped.

“That wasn’t the Emperor,” said Augustus. “She looked so small!”

“The Emperor is small,” said Giannina. “Being the Emperor has nothing to do with one’s height.”

“I heard she killed a lot of people,” Adrian murmured darkly.

Gerda looked away.

“She’s helped a lot of people too,” Giannina argued. “I didn’t even know it was her.”

“Weren’t you out somewhere back then?” asked Lucie.

“Yes, exactly, and that’s why I didn’t know… I only heard the stories afterward.”

“So why’d she sent you a letter?” Arnulf asked. “If not ‘cause you and her are dating?”

“Miss Mercedes served in the Imperial army,” Adrian said.

“They attended military academy together,” Lucie added.

“She wronged her,” said Mathilde.

Everyone looked at her.

“Emperor Edelgard, I mean.” She looked at all the faces surrounding her at the table. “She kept asking for forgiveness. That’s weird, isn’t it? People talk about her like they’re scared of her. But that’s not what I saw.”

“Mathilde,” Mercedes said softly. “Is there something you’d like to share?”

“Is it another apology?” she asked, grimacing. “This is why I hate adults. She should just leave you alone already.”

Mercedes skimmed the letter’s contents. “No,” she said. “This is a response to a letter that I sent her.”

“Why did you send her a letter?” Mathilde asked gloomily. “Is the orphanage in trouble?”

“No, not at all.” Mercedes smiled at her from across the table. “I requested an audience with her.”

“An audience?” she asked. “For what?”

“Well,” Mercedes said, “the Emperor’s time is limited. If I want to see her, then I have to request a private audience.”

“‘Private,’” Arnulf drawled.

“Edelgard might be the Emperor of Adrestia, but she’s a person, too,” Mercedes continued. “I want to be her friend.”

Mathilde was quiet.

Gerda rose from her seat. “Miss Mercedes…”

Mercedes looked at her. “What’s the matter, Gerda?”

“Who is she, I mean?” Gerda looked concerned. “Emperor Edelgard. She’s powerful, isn’t she? She could take us all away, if she wanted.”

There was a murmur among the children seated at the table.

“Take us away…”

“What’s the point?”

“You’re not friends,” Gerda insisted. “I’m worried. She’s the Emperor. She can do anything she wants. Why risk going there again? She could hurt you.”

Mercedes took a deep breath, and the scowl in Gerda’s face deepened.

“Your responsibility is to us,” she said. “The Imperial capital is far away, all the way down south. Do you really have to do this?”

“I believe… that it could help me,” Mercedes said, painfully honestly. “And if the visit does help, that means I can serve you better—or, well…” She smiled, small and hopeful and conciliatory. “Being a personal confidante of the Emperor can be difficult. And we did know each other, for a time. I even healed one of her most grievous wounds. My mother will be here, of course, and you have Mr. Ruthers next door, and the Marchands if you need anything. I’ll be back before you know it, Gerda. It’s not so long.”

She pressed her lips together in a way that brought to mind Annette. “We love you, Miss Mercie,” she said, in a way that she supposed was meant to make her feel guilty about leaving. “Please don’t leave us.”

She chuckled. “I’ll be all right, Gerda. I’m not headed out to battle. It’s just a friendly visit.”

“It’s a private audience with the Emperor,” she retorted. “That’s not friendly.”

“‘Cordial,’ then.”

Gerda glared at her.

“You’ll have to leave too, someday,” said Mercedes.

“Never,” she said, but as soon as the words left her mouth, she blushed and sat back down. Everyone was looking at her.

“What a baby,” said Arnulf.

Lucie giggled.

“Don’t be mean,” said Giannina. “She was here first.”

* * *

Mercedes packed two sets of clothes for the weather: one for the northern frosts of Faerghus, and another for the warmer southern climes of Adrestia. She handed her mother instructions for moving the children out of the house and into the neighbors’ in case there was an emergency, and reminded her of bedtimes and routines and food preferences; her mother, of course, had raised children before, but not so many at once. She promised them foreign sweets and maybe an extra trinket or two for the house, and stories—”Long ones,” Arnulf had mouthed—and to stay safe, and to be good, and to always be their Miss Mercie, no matter what the case may be.

From Blaiddyd through the Plains, she could cross the Oghma Mountains into Garreg Mach, and from there follow the river down to Aegir and then finally to Hresvelg, where Enbarr rested at its tip. It was a two-week journey, and closer to three, if she were being honest with herself, and if she didn’t stop herself along the way to help people, which is typically what happened, especially when she traveled alone. Gerda almost talked her into allowing her to come along. She almost wished she had let her.

Garreg Mach was a pleasant respite from the northern chill. A few of the guards and clergy recognized her from her school days and offered her a tour of the reimagined monastery. She attended a service. She helped the cooks in the kitchen and was rewarded handsomely for her efforts in return.

She followed the river south from Varley into Bergliez and then into Aegir, where everyone seemed to recognize her, and Ferdinand offered her a guest room on his estate. He lent her a carriage to take her over the river into Hresvelg, and from there it was another day or two until Enbarr.

She arrived on the fourteenth of Lone Moon, seventeen days after the start of her journey. She had visited Enbarr once and very briefly with the Imperial army, and before that only as a very small girl. It was a sprawling, urban, modern city, with red-roofed apartments and lazy canals and long, sweeping promenades that overlooked the water. She wandered the markets and politely deflected any flirting—everyone always wanted to flirt with her, and she tried to avoid indulging them, though a certain few were always more persistent than the rest—and then finally arrived at the palace gates with the letter in hand.

The guard stared at her, and then inspected the letter. Then he frowned. “Please wait here,” he said.

She waited for a little while, and then was escorted inside by two more guards and made to sit in an antechamber of sorts. The palace was all stairs and big rooms and long hallways, with windows lining the walls. She sat on one of the sofas and stared into the carpet. The room was big and empty and quiet.

Then the door opened, and Hubert walked in, attended by two more guards.

“Mercedes,” he said, with his usual gruffness. “Her Majesty has been expecting you.”

She stood up.

“Ah, but not today.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Tomorrow, at three. She’s agreed to meet with you for half an hour. Will that suffice?”

“Yes,” said Mercedes. “That will be more than enough.”

He eyed her warily, and then dismissed the guards. “What could you have to say after all this time?” he asked, some time after they had left.

“More than I did in the past,” she replied.

He drew closer to her. “She insisted that I confirm your appointment personally, but I don’t see the need.” He tilted his head, in a way that was decidedly crow-like.

“I’m sure she’s very busy,” she said.

“That’s not what I meant. I know why you’re here. Her Majesty is weak when it comes to you,” he said, in a whisper so low it sounded like a hiss, “and you have inconvenienced us all greatly by being here.”

“I’m sorry,” Mercedes said, “but are you asking me to leave?”

He sighed. “For today, yes. You have no business here until tomorrow. Please arrive early.” He pulled out a piece of paper from his breast pocket. “And take this with you. It bears the Imperial seal and the Emperor’s signature, along with an explanation for your visit and the location in which the two of you are to meet. The guards will let you through and lead you to your destination.”

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the folded paper from him. She tucked it away into her purse. “It’s been a while, Hubert.”

He looked away. “Indeed it has.”

“May I be escorted out? Or am I permitted to leave on my own?”

He blinked. “Since I’m already here, I’ll see you out.”

He left her at the gates.

“Hubert,” she said, before she stepped back out onto the streets.

“Mercedes.”

“Are you worried?”

He laughed, softly and with more warmth than she would have expected. “Yours is not the sort of threat that can be subdued with violent means. I’m afraid I don’t understand it. If one could kill with kindness…”

“This isn’t about death, Hubert.”

His eyes crinkled, and he appeared to be smiling. It looked odd on him. “Not the death of the body, no. But of the spirit. You’ll kill her just to bring her back to life again. That’s what healers do.”

“She was never dead.”

His eyes glanced away, in another direction. He continued to smile. “Perhaps so.” Then he stepped away. “Please… Return promptly. Her Majesty will be expecting you.”

Mercedes stepped back onto the street, and watched him go back inside.

She had lunch, and then strolled the piazzas, and then had dinner and went to retire to her room at the inn. The opera house was nearby. She made a brief detour and checked a poster tacked to one wall, and saw that Dorothea was still performing, after all this time. If she had a little more money, she thought, she might have.

Then it was the next morning, and she had breakfast at the inn. She lingered around the opera house for a little longer and watched some performers on the street. Someone made a rude remark about her body that she supposed was intended to be a compliment. She went to church and visited the almshouse. One of the clerics recognized her, and it wasn’t until two o’clock, after she’d accepted their eager invitation to lunch and conversation, that she was finally able to leave.

The sun was high in the sky on her way to the palace gates. Big, fluffy clouds drifted past it, covering the ground in shadow and then light and shadow again. She offered her paper to the guard, and one of them led her into the antechamber, where she waited while another guard summoned a servant, and that servant led her into another hallway, and up the stairs, and into another room that also seemed to serve as an antechamber of sorts. This one had a little bust of Emperor Domitia I, with lifeless eyes and a gloomy scowl, and a bookcase, and a large wooden desk. She stood up after the servant left and perused the books. They were all regarding the Imperial legal code. There was one about pagan religions, and she picked it up and skimmed it.

“Duscur has many gods,” it read.

Then the door opened. She placed the book back onto the shelf and turned.

Edelgard was quiet as she entered. She always looked so underdressed after the war; no longer in that tight-fitting, strangely-armored ballgown of sorts, and lacking her horned crown, she looked much as she did at the academy. A little older, she supposed, but they all did.

“This is Ferdinand’s office,” she said. “Why did they put you in here?” She peered around. “Never mind that.” Then she looked at Mercedes. “I… have to admit, I would have never expected that you wanted to see me.” She paused. “It was usually the other way around.”

“How are you and Dorothea?”

“Um…” She blushed and closed the door behind her. Hubert was nearby, Mercedes could sense. “We’re doing agreeably, I suppose.”

“‘Agreeably?’” Mercedes echoed. “That’s not what I remember you saying last time.”

Her face was still red. “It’s difficult. I knew it was going to be difficult. It’s complicated.”

“Are you still thinking of adopting a child?”

“Eventually.” She sounded confident of that. “But not soon, I don’t think so. There’s too much work to be done.” She sat down in an overstuffed armchair and Mercedes sat adjacent to her. “Thirty minutes isn’t a lot of time, but we can extend it—that is, if you don’t have to return so soon—”

“A day or two more would be acceptable, I think.”

“Good.” She looked off to the side, toward the window. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to talk about you. That is, of course, unless you wanted to talk about me.”

Edelgard blinked at her. “It would be nice, for a change.”

“I received a letter from Emile.”

“I see.”

“I don’t know if you played any part in that.”

“I did not, but I’m happy for you.”

“The children are doing well.”

“I’m glad.”

“As is my mother. Fhirdiad is recovering. The winter frosts will have started melting by the time I return home—nothing like Adrestia.”

“I’d always thought it was too cold.”

“They remember you.”

Edelgard looked at her.

“When you visited. The children.” Mercedes exhaled. “It’s always strange to hear their impressions of you. They’re not like the adults, you see. They say all sorts of funny things.”

“As in?”

“Well, Gerda worries. She didn’t want me to leave. And Adrian knows the part you played in the war. Giannina was the only one who tried to defend you. Her family moved to Faerghus right before the war began, you know. I think she wants to go back.”

“It’s been ten years,” said Edelgard. “How old is she?”

“Thirteen.”

Her eyes widened. “She probably doesn’t even remember what it was like.”

Mercedes chuckled. “Does it matter? They don’t know you, not like I do. Most people don’t.”

“Even children have a right to their own opinion. Sometimes they’re more fairly considered than the adults’.”

“That’s true.” She smiled. “You seem comfortable.”

“Do I?” Edelgard straightened up in her chair. “I must be hiding it well, then.”

“Still?”

She looked away.

Mercedes leaned to one side, as if prodding her. “You have a right to be otherwise. I won’t be offended.”

She sank into her seat. “You’re a good judge of character,” she said, with some resignation. “That’s dangerous for people like me. You can accurately deduce intentions from a glance—that’s not a skill that everyone has. I’ve managed to convince Hubert you’d never try to kill me…” at that, she huffed a laugh, “but he suspects you all the same. And you’re not as transparent as Dorothea. You have things that you want to protect, and you would protect them with your life.”

“Where are you going with all this?” Mercedes asked.

“How might one put it… It’s like whistling into the wind.” Edelgard stared up at the plastered ceiling. “Talking to you, and expecting something different.” She stood up.

“Leaving already?”

“Not necessarily.” She motioned toward the door. “Shall we take a walk? The room’s a little small.”

Edelgard, she realized, with some trepidation, was leading her up to the third floor of the palace. She was silent as they walked, apparently very focused on taking them wherever it was that she wanted to go. They passed portraits and religious paintings and more long hallways and windows, until she came to a halt. Mercedes stopped a few paces behind her.

Then she turned around and looked up at her.

Even looking down at Edelgard, Mercedes thought, was a little like looking up at her. She swallowed up one’s field of vision, made everything else impossible to see.

“Have you found anyone,” she said, very quietly, “that you might like to be with?”

Mercedes thought about it for a moment. “You mean romantically? No,” she said.

Edelgard took another two steps forward, and then turned around again. The distance between them became awkward, so Mercedes followed her lead.

“I’m sure it’s not for lack of suitors,” she said. “You’re free to live your life however you please, of course, as long as you aren’t harming anyone in doing so.” She shook her head. “Never mind. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Is that why you came here?” Edelgard asked, and something about her demeanor had changed, sharpened. “You’re still afraid?”

She smiled, in the way that she tended to do when she had no other means of defending herself. “Of you? No. Not anymore.”

“Then come closer.”

She did.

Edelgard looked up at her. She seemed scared. “Nothing,” she said, and looked down. “You really feel nothing?”

“How could I, when you look so afraid to be close to me yourself?”

She took a few more steps down the hallway, and it was there that Mercedes could see where she was leading them, toward two huge double doors that opened to a wide balcony overlooking the palace gates and Leicester-style gardens.

“Then you pity me,” said Edelgard.

“I do not.”

“You certainly don’t love me.”

“Not in the sense that you’re thinking, no,” Mercedes replied patiently.

Edelgard pushed the doors open with unnerving ease, and a powerful wind burst into the hallway, billowing out her long, loose hair. It was beautifully sunny outside. She looked radiant.

“You should have told me ‘no’ and been done with it.”

“Was there ever a question, to start?”

Edelgard stared at her.

“I don’t remember there being one,” she said, and smiled again. She stepped out onto the balcony, basking in the chill of early spring. “Be honest, Edelgard. You never gave me a choice.”

“Is that why you came here? To tell me that?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then why?”

In lieu of an answer, Mercedes stepped forward and leaned against the balcony railing. “I wanted to hear how well everything was going for you. It seemed that way, before. Do you still think about me?”

Edelgard was quiet. Mercedes looked down.

Here, on the third floor of the palace, it was easy to see the gardens and everything beneath: the flowering trees, green shoots sprouting from the earth, not a single one native to southern Adrestian soil. The olive trees, the oaks and the cedars, the great bristling shrubs that covered the rocky white cliffs and sloping shores of her early childhood: none of those were to be found here, at the main entrance to the Imperial Palace, where the rose bushes and the hydrangeas were full to bursting, and the carnations exploded in crimson and pink. The hedges were trimmed into geometric shapes, boxy and stern, but there was a wildness to them that, Mercedes thought, must have been a whim of the new Emperor.

“If you’re completely honest with Dorothea, then that must bother her.”

“She still hasn’t forgiven me for visiting the orphanage that day.”

“Because you didn’t tell her the truth.”

“I thought I was going to…” Edelgard paused. “I was expecting a different outcome. I don’t know why.”

Mercedes turned to look at her. “What would you have wanted me to say?”

“Truthfully…” Edelgard approached her from behind, briskly and unapologetically, “I would have wanted you to accept me unconditionally, and without judgment.” She didn’t look her in the eye. “But that’s a child’s way of thinking—unsophisticated and unaware. Children don’t understand how or when their words or their actions might hurt another person. Children can be forgiven for not knowing the difference between right and wrong. Society is meant to teach us how to behave. We learn by example, and through cooperation. But sometimes, people are left out.” One gloved hand reached out, and gripped the railing. “Some people don’t learn the same way others do. Or something’s missing, or they just can’t. You exposed that, within me.”

“Did I?” Mercedes asked.

“No,” said Edelgard, “you’re right. You didn’t do anything. I did. But when I did, I realized something.”

“And what was that?”

“That I was—” she drew her hands up to her chest, as if she’d been stung— “how do I put this…” Then she looked at her, and there was obvious fear in her eyes. “May I be completely frank with you? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Mercedes closed her hand around the railing, at the same time Edelgard let go of it. “What you’re about to say… I think you and I already both know it, in a way.”

“Would it change anything, were I to give voice to it?”

“It might hurt,” she said, honestly. “But what other reason did I come here, than to be convinced?” She leaned an elbow against the railing and rested her cheek in her hand, and smiled at her. “Sometimes the pain is worth it.”

Edelgard wet her lips and looked down. “There are some people… for whom ‘no’ is rarely ever an acceptable answer. Who are raised from birth with the understanding that they will never be denied anything.” Her hands tightened into fists at her side. “I was destined for greatness. I was going to lead our people into a new era of history. There was no escaping it. There was no one to teach me humility. No one to teach me respect. No one to teach me that descending into narcissism and megalomania was the wrong thing to do. I thought I deserved you. I knew I didn’t, but how could I understand?” She looked up at her, and a plethora of emotions spread over her face all at once—guilt and fear and shame and horror.

Edelgard clenched her teeth. “You are my subject. You _bow_ to me. You do as I say because you are indebted to me for living in my empire, under my rule. And I saw you, and I felt you go limp in my arms, and I saw your mouth tremble when you spoke to me, and I thought that was just, and I thought that that was right. I know it’s wrong!” Her voice rose, sharply. “I know it is; I just…” she turned toward the balcony, and then turned back and took a step toward the doorway, “I don’t feel it as I should. I don’t feel shame for wanting to violate you. I don’t think there is an answer to that. Because I would take you, willing or not, and it would make no difference to me.” She covered her face with one hand. “I don’t feel guilt. I don’t feel these things. I have to be told. I would do anything for Dorothea,” her voice went soft and harsh, “I would change, I want to make her happy, but it isn’t there, not like it is for you and for her, I have to learn, and I have to be corrected, and I love her, but I know that she’s frustrated, and I just…”

She buried her face in her hands. “It’s not there. Just the emptiness, and wanting to be filled. It’s this endless cycle of wanting. Wanting and wanting and wanting. I need her. I have no one else to tell me what’s right.”

Mercedes was quiet. “So it’s the feeling you’re missing?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she explained, dropping her hands from her face and turning her head just a little, so that they made eye contact. “I obviously don’t—but the wanting, that never went away. You could never even imagine… I don’t think you could even understand how hard it was for me to reach that conclusion. How I could feel guilt over hurting you and yet still want to do it. Like a monster, barely under control.” She turned away and shook her head. “There was no misunderstanding, clearly. Why you would come here in spite of that, I…”

“Who’s to say that someday you won’t?”

Edelgard stared at her. “Err… What?”

Mercedes turned away from the balcony, so that they were facing each other. “That sounds awfully fatalistic, coming from you. You can change a whole continent, but you can’t change yourself?”

“I…” Her mouth fell open.

It was kind of endearing, honestly.

Then her mouth snapped back shut. “Why do you say that?”

“You said that you would change for her. The willingness is there, at least, even if the know-how isn’t. And all I can really ask is that you try.” For once, she didn’t smile, but rather drew her brows together and glared at her. “I know you have your troubles, Edelgard. And I learned that you can be unpredictable. I have reason to fear and to resent you. You hurt me. You reminded me of my own defenselessness. You asked for my forgiveness, but forgiveness is for the sake of the victim, not the offender. Forgiveness is something that I grant to you to give myself closure. You were asking me for something that was never truly yours.”

Edelgard swallowed. “I see.”

“We’re all struggling, in our own ways. No one is ever free from pain. Everything you dislike, or try to deny, about yourself, that’s what makes you human. To say that you’re… lacking, somehow, because you haven’t had our experiences—because you don’t understand some aspect of society or of human relationships that we believe to be true—I don’t think that’s quite the right way to put it.” She looked up at the sky. “It’s normal, sometimes, to feel the wrong way, or to not know everything all at once. I can hardly fault you for what you’re feeling. It’s what you did that hurt me, not how you felt.”

“Then…” Edelgard laughed dryly. “You’re telling me that she loves me for trying, is that it?”

Mercedes fought back the smile that was toying at her lips. “How did you reach that particular conclusion?”

“You make it sound like there’s nothing good about me at all.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said, carefully. “She chose to spend her life with you, even knowing what you did. That’s not a decision so easily made.”

“In the hopes that she could teach me to do better, perhaps,” Edelgard replied skeptically.

“In the hopes that you might learn along with her, and not necessarily always from her,” Mercedes corrected. “She knows you very well, Edelgard. Enough to know that you’re going to make mistakes—the both of you—and yet she still chose to be with you. You can’t escape suffering. But you can share it. Being loved, and loving another person, is the ultimate expression of that. Sometimes it’ll all go wrong, and that’s, well…” She laughed. “That’s wonderful, isn’t it? There’s no charm in perfect things. There’s no life at all.”

* * *

Edelgard let her back down to the antechamber, escorted by two guards as well as Hubert, all three of whom must have materialized out of the shadows somewhere on their way down.

They had five minutes alone. Edelgard looked as stunned as ever to be in her presence.

“Did it help you?” she asked. “To speak to me, I mean.”

“Hm,” Mercedes said.

“I’m afraid the only other aid I can lend you is of the financial kind.”

“That’s an important kind,” she said.

Edelgard stared down at Mercedes’s hands, and then hesitated and looked back up. “What will you tell them, when you get back?”

“That’s a good question.” Mercedes looked out toward the window. “That I survived, perhaps?”

Edelgard tsked. “Don’t joke around like that. We take the safety of our guests very seriously.”

“I’ll tell them about what a dark and gloomy man your retainer was, and about the palace, and the gardens, and the endless hallways.” Mercedes paused. “And all the things that I did on my way here. I stayed overnight on the Aegir estate. Ferdinand was a very generous host.”

“I see,” said Edelgard, dryly.

“I bought a box of lokum from one of the shops around here. They sell them in sets of half-rosewater and half-bergamot flavors.” Mercedes looked at her. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

Edelgard blushed and looked away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

So she did, then.

“I see Dorothea is still singing at the opera house.”

“She’ll probably retire once we’re married.”

“Has she told you what she’ll do once she does?”

“No,” said Edelgard, evasively. “Though I have an idea.”

“I don’t suppose it’s to become a housewife?”

She laughed at that. “Whatever dreams she had of being one have been long since dashed.” She paused. “Well, we are only engaged. She could still break off our engagement and choose to be with someone else.”

“Can I ask you something, Edelgard?”

She looked up at her. “Of course.”

She wet her lips. Her mouth felt oddly dry. “When you look at me,” she said, “what do you see?”

Edelgard’s eyes widened.

There was a knock on the door. “Are you almost finished, Your Majesty?”

“Just a moment, Hubert,” Edelgard called through the door. She stared at Mercedes. “What do I…”

“Some people have compared me to the Goddess—although, I think that’s exaggerating a bit.”

“I see someone every bit as human and fragile as me, who, despite all the hardships she’s endured and all the suffering she’s experienced, refuses to pin the blame for her own hurt on someone else. Anger comes naturally to me,” she said. “I imagine that it’s the same for you.” Edelgard’s eyes scanned her face. “If you pretend to be strong all the time, then no one will notice when you’re in pain.” She looked away. Her hands dangled at her sides. “I’m sorry, I—”

Mercedes grabbed her hand. “No. Don’t be.”

They stared at each other.

Mercedes felt her heartbeat race in her chest, _ba-dmp ba-dmp ba-dmp ba-dmp ba-dmp._

“I should have just told you that,” Edelgard said, and then shrugged her hand free and laughed.

“You still can,” said Mercedes. “You just did.”

* * *

Edelgard was generous enough to lend her transport all the way up to Garreg Mach, cutting her expected travel time nearly in half. She stayed overnight at the monastery, although she was impatient to return home to her children with the gifts in her luggage and the stories in her head.

They all screamed when her mother opened the door. She dropped her bags and embraced her mother first, and then the small ones, and then the twins and the girls, and then finally Giannina and Gerda.

Gerda gripped her tight. “Did anything bad happen?” she whispered.

“No,” said Mercedes. “Nothing bad at all.”

She arrived at sunset, the sky alight in uneven orange and purple hues. She was very careful to put the lokum away after everyone had had a taste—it was very sweet and she didn’t want the young ones getting used to the flavor—and then sat everyone down on the big rug on the floor and told them about the monastery and about her friend Ferdinand, and the Emperor’s brooding retainer and all the delights of Enbarr.

“Aw,” said Arnulf, “now I wanna go!”

“You can,” said Mercedes, “once you’re old enough.”

“I’ve been to Enbarr once,” said Giannina, sagely. “Though I wasn’t old enough to remember it.”

“Then it doesn’t count,” Augustus remarked.

“Did Hubert carry any knives?” asked Adrian. “I heard he carries a lot of knives.”

“Ugh,” said Gerda, “you’re so morbid.”

“I heard Edelgard puts the heads of her most hated enemies on a spike,” whispered Mathilde. “And then displays them on the gates outside the palace.”

“There’s nothing like that there,” Mercedes said softly. “It’s a very stately-looking place.”

“You haven’t said anything about the Emperor yet,” said Lucie. “What was she like?”

Mercedes smiled, small and secretive.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arnulf demanded.

“She did ask me if I was interested in anyone.”

Half the children—the ones old enough to understand what she meant—nearly jumped off the floor.

“What!”

“So it is true!”

“Arnulf, you lousy cur—”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” Mercedes added gently. “And the Emperor is engaged.”

“Engaged?” Lucie asked. “To whom?”

“To an opera singer,” said Mercedes. “Well… She was also in the Imperial army—”

“A woman?” Giannina asked, interestedly.

“Her name is Dorothea Arnault. We were… also classmates at the academy,” Mercedes continued, realizing only belatedly how strange this all must have sounded.

“Sounds like an awful lot of coincidences to me,” Adrian muttered.

“But is she noble?” Lucie asked.

“No,” said Mercedes, “she’s a commoner, like me.”

Lucie and Giannina gasped in unison.

“The Emperor marrying a common woman! I can’t believe it!” said Lucie.

The two girls stared at each other. They seemed perfectly scandalized.

“Well, everyone in the capital already knows it,” said Mercedes. “They announced their engagement officially… Oh, I don’t remember. But I’d read about it in one of Ferdinand’s letters.”

“Who cares?” Arnulf groaned. “I thought that stuff didn’t matter anymore.”

“That’s what they say,” said Mathilde, “but that’s not what happens in practice. Having a Crest and the right last name can still get you places you really shouldn’t be.”

“You’re friends with so many nobles,” said Giannina, “but you still choose to be with us.”

“Of course,” said Mercedes. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Gerda looked at her from her place on the rug, a question in her eyes.

“What is it, Gerda?” she asked.

She shook her head. “Um… Later,” she said.

“Hey,” said Arnulf, “how come Gerda gets to stay up late, anyway?”

“Gerda and Giannina help me put everyone else to bed,” Mercedes said, smiling. “And once you’re old enough, you can help me too.”

He muttered quietly to himself and looked away.

A little while later, after most of the candles had been snuffed out and everyone had been put to bed, Mercedes heard a knock on her bedroom door.

“It’s me,” said the voice from behind the door. “Gerda.”

Mercedes sighed. “Why don’t you come in?”

The door creaked open, and Gerda entered. Her eyes looked dark and white in the candlelight. She closed the door shut behind her.

“She hurt you,” Gerda said. “The Emperor hurt you. We all know this, but we don’t know how.”

Mercedes sat on the bed, and patted the space next to her. “Sit down.”

Gerda hesitated, and then sat down beside her. “What happened that day? With the strange woman—with the Emperor—why was she acting so odd? No one treats you that way. I don’t care if it’s the Emperor or not.”

“You spoke to her,” said Mercedes. “Didn’t you?”

“But I knew she was lying. And we could all hear you. What is your relationship to her? Why did you have to leave?”

“I didn’t have to leave,” said Mercedes, softly. “I chose to leave.” She laughed a little. “Please don’t tell anyone, but… I think we were both making it more complicated than it had to be. The war was an extremely difficult time, for everyone. Edelgard was under a lot of stress. And sometimes… Sometimes people make poor decisions.”

“What did she do?”

“She tried to choke me.”

Gerda muffled a cry of alarm. “What?” she gasped. “Why?”

“She was very upset.”

“But why? She didn’t have to hurt you!” Gerda was tensed up on the bed, her hands gripping the sheets. She looked as if she were ready to pounce on this horrible new image of the Emperor that she had.

“She… She had something that she wanted to express, to me, but she was unable to use her words. There’s no use in getting angry about it now, Gerda.” Mercedes squeezed her shoulder. “That’s all in the past.”

“But aren’t you angry?”

“I…” Mercedes smiled. “I’m a little beyond that by now, I think. It’s been a long time.”

“But to go back—”

“I’m not afraid of her, anymore.”

“That’s not an excuse. What did you—did she apologize, at least?”

“She did, in the past.” Mercedes chuckled. “Several times. I don’t think she could have apologized any more than she already has. And she sends private donations to the orphanage. She’s done a lot to make up for it. Of course, it’s really only to assuage her own feelings of guilt. I visited her because I could, Gerda.”

“I don’t understand.” Gerda pressed her lips into a grimace. “Why would you want to be friends with someone like that? With someone who tried to hurt you?”

“Because I think forgiveness is important.”

Gerda stared at her.

“I missed my chance.” She shook, a little. “It’s easy to blame someone else for your own grievances, but it’s infinitely more difficult to have hope. I’m far from perfect myself, you know.” She turned and took one of Gerda’s hands in her own, and rubbed her thumb across her knuckles. “I don’t know if… Maybe it’s better that I didn’t,” she said, turning the words over in her head. “I don’t think she was ready to hear it, yet.”

“To hear that you forgave her?”

“Yes,” said Mercedes, and squeezed her hand. “These things take time. Edelgard is trying to be a better person. I can see it. But I’m not ready to forgive her yet.”

“Well,” said Gerda, “that’s frustrating.”

“I didn’t realize…” she said, and then caught herself. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.” She laughed again. “Some things are better left alone.”

“But you tried,” said Gerda.

“I did,” she admitted.

“I like that about you,” said Gerda, honestly.

“What? That I try?”

Gerda smiled. “That you aren’t perfect. It makes me want to grow up faster, so I can support you. I want to help you run the orphanage.”

“Oh,” said Mercedes. “Well, but you already are.”

“Even when you’re gone,” Gerda said gravely. “I love you.” She looked down. “I wish you could be my real mother, and your mother my grandmother. I love you both.”

“I…” She hesitated. She realized that she needed time to consider it. “I don’t want you to limit yourself, in such a way. You can choose to stay here, of course, but I don’t want this house to be your whole world.”

“I know,” Gerda said sharply. “You’re always telling me that.”

Mercedes let go of her hand.

“You, too, I mean.” Gerda looked at her. “If you really want to pursue… I don’t know, love, or something like that. You should. It’s never too late.”

“I can tell you’ve been thinking about this a lot,” said Mercedes, and stroked the top of her head.

Gerda reddened under her touch. “I just… I was so surprised, I mean, you never do anything for yourself. Nana and I were talking about it while you were away—she joked that you’d finally grown up.” Gerda laughed. “And of course there was the war, but that’s different… I thought you’d changed, but… Maybe that’s a good thing.” She looked up at her. “I like you better, like this.” She looked away, and leaned against Mercedes’s shoulder. “It makes me believe that I could grow up to be like you.”

“It’s not so impossible to be like me.”

“You’re you. You don’t know that.”

Mercedes giggled. She ran her hand through Gerda’s loose hair. “Why don’t you go to bed now?” she asked. “You’re too old to sleep in mine.”

At that, Gerda stood straight up, and Mercedes barely managed to untangle her hand from her hair. “OK, OK, I get it already!” She glared at her, and then turned around and folded her arms, hunching over meekly. “You’re the same as ever, Miss Mercedes.”

Once Gerda had left the room, Mercedes blew out the last candle, pulled down the covers, and went to bed. The next morning, when she woke up, Gerda was already in the kitchen, cooking breakfast.

“Good morning,” she said, and smiled at her.

“Good morning,” said Mercedes, and smiled back.


End file.
